


Pride, and Other Things We Leave Behind

by Whreflections



Series: 30 Winchester Brother snapshots [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con References, References to hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's captured by a demon that remembers making use of him during his time with Alistair, and he's ready to stake his own claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride, and Other Things We Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

> 26\. Truckle

Dean gritted his teeth at the jerk of leather against his throat, harsh and unyielding. Every muscle in his arms pulled rigid against the cuffs behind him, even if he already knew it wouldn’t do any good. A thousand memories were swimming for precedence behind his eyes, all of them bright and bloody and harsh, burning him from the inside.   
  
He’d left this behind in hell, goddammit, and he wasn’t about to do it again. Not here, not where he had a choice. Here, they could only kill him once. The leather jerked again, chain hauling him back against the demon’s thigh.   
  
“Dean, Dean, Dean…you’re not playing.” His voice was dangerous and dark and still as black water, and Dean shut his eyes against it, voice trembling only a little as he licked the blood away from his lips. He’d like to think it was anger, and nothing else.   
  
“Get your fuckin’ hands off me.”   
  
They smoothed instead across his shoulders, digging firm into muscles that quivered under his skin like a worked out stallion. He was almost shaking. No matter what he did or didn’t do, what he told himself…Alistair had trained this into him far too well for anything to change it. Cas hadn’t made his body over as new as he might think.   
  
There was hot breath against his ear, low and deliberate. “You forget, Dean, I was there, remember? I was there, and Alistair handed you over to me  _many_  times. Now, Dean, I can keep you safe from Michael.” He stroked across his flanks, petting, and Dean’s stomach flopped and tried to heave though he held himself in check. “I can keep you as mine. No one would question, and you’ll never have to make any choices. Not a one.”   
  
Yeah, never any choices, because he’d be nothing more than furniture. The pet on the leash, the warm body, the thing tied to the rack that came and fell to its knees at the jerk of a chain. In hell, he hadn’t had a choice. He swallowed, felt the burn in his bruised throat.   
  
“See a deal only works if you’re offering me something better. I didn’t want to play this game the first time around and honestly, I’d rather die.” He choked a little as the demon he knew only as Tyler jerked on the chain again, pressure hard against his windpipe.   
  
“See, that’s assuming you have a choice. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you here. You want to know how  _easy_  it was to rip that silly little gun out of your hand and knock you out? To drag you here, all alone? I’ve got you now, Dean, and even though I really  _could_  use that reward, I’m pretty sure this way you’ll be more than worth my while.”   
  
Except that he wouldn’t be. He’d be as uncooperative as possible even if it hurt like hell, because here, he could only die once. Here, it’d be over. His breath rasped through his throat, and he twitched as he felt teeth close down against the top of his spine.   
  
“So beautiful. So-“   
  
Tyler cut off with a gurgle, and Dean could barely even register the feel of the body slumping against his back before it was shoved away. There was the knife dropping to the floor, scattering the tile red, and then there was just Sam kneeling in front of him, working at the buckle and yanking the collar from his neck. His hands were covered in blood but he wasn’t even glancing at it, wasn’t even tempted, and his eyes when they locked with Dean’s had enough emotion in them to make him want to either hide from them or crawl inside them. Sam’s thumbs stroked over the bruise on his neck, forehead furrowing.   
  
“Jesus, Dean…”   
  
He was shaking still, and as grateful as he was he felt sick enough to wish that Sam had never come here. If he’d never come after him, he’d have never seen Dean like this. Now, he knew Sam wouldn’t be able to forget it. Sam reached behind him, picking the lock on the cuffs, and Dean kept his arms deathly still. He took a few deep breaths, his eyes darting down to stare uselessly at the blood on the tile. What could he even say? ‘Thanks, Sammy’ wouldn’t be enough, and ‘oh by the way, I was Alistair’s slave’ would be too much. Not to mention, Sam’d take that as license to beat himself up even more over hell in epic ways only Sam could manage.   
  
He’d been studying the floor so hard he was shocked to feel Sam’s hand clap briefly on his shoulder, and he startled, looking up to find Sam holding his hand out, ready to help him up.   
  
“C’mon. Car’s out front.”   
  
He blinked, held his hand out slowly and let Sam pull him to his feet. Sam shrugged his outer shirt off and draped it quick around his shoulders, speaking up and holding the keys out before Dean could protest.   
  
“You wanna drive?” 


End file.
